


Jeeves and the Story on the Train

by violetvaria



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Third Person, child!Bertie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetvaria/pseuds/violetvaria
Summary: Young Bertie Wooster is returning to school after the death of his parents. He meets Jeeves, who helps take his mind off his grief by telling him a story.





	Jeeves and the Story on the Train

**Author's Note:**

> Bertie is a child in this story, and Jeeves crosses social lines to comfort him, so they are of necessity somewhat out of character. Hopefully Jeeves's voice in particular does not stray too far.

The train rattled in its tracks, rumbling, bumping, clattering swiftly closer to its destination.

Away from home.

The darkness slipped past the window, but the cerulean eyes reflected in the glass registered neither the movement nor the distant lights twinkling in the night. If the dark had ever held answers, he could not find them now.

A small child, he was an indeterminate age between six and ten—well past toddlerhood, but not yet morphing into a rangy, awkward adolescent. His delicate stature would incline one to believe he was barely past his first half-decade, but the stiff, serious bearing indicated greater maturity. At least, one might hope that was the cause.

If it was not age, it was unendurable grief.

The train lurched, and the boy, motionless in the middle of the too-large compartment, stumbled. His expression did not change as he picked himself up and abandoned his solitude.

“Back in there with you, m’ lad,” a bluff, hearty voice chided. “Won’t stop for hours yet. Plenty o’ time to be gettin’ yer sleep.”

There was no response, not even acknowledgement of the man’s presence. Once again the train tossed its cargo, and the man automatically grabbed at the child to help him retain his balance. The boy flinched so sharply he nearly fell anyway as he shirked from the large hand on his arm and melted silently away.

“’Ey! You!” After a moment, the man shrugged and rolled off.

The child streamed ghost-like along the corridors, not pausing but seeming ready at any moment for…something.

But nothing happened.

Alien in the lower-class cars, the child took no notice of the maternal glances aimed his way, still less the frank curiosity at his presence. The small, well-shod feet continued seeking. And then he was back in front of his allotted space.

There was nowhere else to go.

“May I assist you with that, young sir?”

The child dropped a listless hand from the stubborn doorknob, unblinking as a larger hand glided past him and worked the mechanism. The door opened.

The boy did not move, staring into the emptiness. There was a long silence.

“Are you intending to retire for the evening?” The voice was almost stiffly polite, but there was a hint of warmth hidden in it, as though its owner desperately wanted to reach out and give aid but had only formalities to offer.

It was just enough warmth that the child half-turned to take in the stranger. There was another silence as they studied each other, one with empathy not showing on his face, one with a question in his eyes, the answer to which he could not hope for.

The child broke the gaze, taking a short step into his compartment and tilting his head very slightly. The man ducked into the berth after him. There was another pause as both took in the room with identical blank expressions.

Very softly, a sigh escaped into the air. The man looked down at his companion, and the child seemed smaller somehow, as though whatever tension had been holding him upright had fled, leaving behind a crumpled shell.

The man sat. The boy regarded him for only a moment before his eyes dropped away. He made no sound as the man leaned forward, put large hands on the thin arms, and lifted him into a warm embrace. The tousled head fell against a broad shoulder, and the man tightened his arms around the fragile creature in his lap.

The train continued rocking. Man and boy did not move except to sway with the rhythm of the train.

The man bent his head to check the child’s face, but the eyes were still open, still haunted, not yet giving in to exhaustion. He took in the lost expression.

“I am reminded of a young lady who was lost in the woods, young sir,” he said softly, smoothly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The small head lifted as his companion regarded him solemnly. “Her name was Goldilocks, due perhaps to her long golden hair. Have you heard of her adventures, young sir?”

After a pause, the child shook his head.

“This young lady was of a most curious nature.” The man felt his way cautiously along the ordinary words. “Her parents often despaired of her propensity for intruding into situations unasked.” The stiffening of the slight body in his lap did not escape his attention, and he divined the reason behind this shattering grief. He continued almost desperately. “Events conspired so that one day young Goldilocks found herself alone in the woods.”

There was a muffled sound, and the man used a sudden lurch of the train to gather the boy more closely to him. They sat through another silence.

“Was she afraid to be alone?” the boy finally whispered.

The man weighed his words and found them all lacking. “No, young sir,” he said finally. “She regarded the prospect as an adventure.” He hesitated. “Perhaps she knew that she would find what she had lost, even if in a different form.”

The delicate brow wrinkled.

He made another attempt. “Perhaps the young lady realized that though she might never see her parents again, the friends she would gain in the future would assuage her grief.”

The brow did not smooth out.

He decided to move on. “For as I have said, she was an adventurous young lady, and eager to discover what new things she could.”

“She didn’t mind being alone?” the child repeated his earlier question.

The man tried to keep his own empathetic grief out of his voice. “No, young sir. She was quite aware that as long as she could care for others, she would not be alone.”

The train whistled mournfully outside in the dark. They waited until its echoes had died away.

The small body relaxed slightly, head tucking back into the man’s shoulder. “What did she do?” he finally prompted.

“Goldilocks decided to explore the woods. And after walking for a considerable distance, she happened upon a small cottage.”

“With honeysuckle on it,” the child murmured dreamily.

“With, as you say, young sir, honeysuckle covering the roof and the windows. Quite a picturesque cottage, the young lady thought.”

“Who lived there?” the voice was still lower, drawing nearer to what the man hoped would be a healing slumber.

“That was precisely the question the young lady asked herself. Always wishing to make herself agreeable to such persons as she happened to meet, she very properly knocked on the door—”

“With honeysuckle on it.”

“Indeed, young sir. She knocked on the honeysuckle-covered door and awaited admittance. However, the door swung gently inward, with no indication of the occupants being at home. Goldilocks chose to enter.”

“She should have left if nobody was there.”

“Indeed she should have, young sir. However, there is no accounting for the mentality of young ladies. Feeling tired after her walk, she believed the owners of the cottage would not object to her taking her leisure for a few moments in their domicile. She found her way to the kitchen and was confronted with three bowls on the table, all filled with porridge.”

The child scowled. “I don’t like porridge.”

“Nor do I, young sir, but greatly desiring refreshment, Goldilocks looked on the dishes as manna in the wilderness. She immediately found a spoon and tasted the first helping of porridge.”

He paused in his story to allow the little boy time to shake his head at such forward behavior.

“Having taken the liberty of eating one spoonful, she uttered an exclamation. The porridge was much too hot. Hoping for better things, she tried the second bowl, which was slightly smaller than the first. This she found to be much too cold.”

“They need a better cook,” the child said sleepily.

“However, when she took a portion of the third and smallest bowl, she found it precisely to her liking, neither too hot nor too cold. She consumed the entire dish.”

The boy made a disgusted sound, presumably imagining his own reaction if given such foul fare.

“After her meal, Goldilocks felt rather tired, and she located the sitting room. As there had been three bowls, here were three chairs.”

“Must be three people living there.” The boy sounded rather pleased at his deductive reasoning.

“Quite so, young sir. She sat first in the largest chair, but found it quite uncomfortably hard. The second chair, in contradistinction, was too soft to support her weight.”

“Did she try the third chair?”

“Indeed she did, young sir. It was the smallest chair, and she found it eminently suited to her tastes. She relaxed for a time.”

He felt a nod against his shoulder and realized his audience would soon be asleep, no matter how interested. He decided to shorten the story.

“However, while the young lady rested, she heard a noise at the front door. The owners of the cottage were returning. These owners were in fact three bears: one large male bear, a slightly smaller female, his wife, and their small child.”

There was a hazy mumble about it being nice to be in a family of bears.

“These bears had taken a walk in the woods, and upon returning home, they entered the kitchen with the intent of refreshing themselves with their porridge. Immediately detecting a difference, the large male bear said, ‘Who’s been eating my porridge?’ The female bear, investigating her own bowl, repeated the query. And their young offspring informed them that some miscreant had eaten his entire portion.”

He stopped. Soft, even breathing assured him that the young gentleman was asleep. For an hour he sat, not heeding his numbing limbs, as the dark countryside flashed past them and a little boy’s nightmares sprang to life and receded. Then he rose, lifting the bundle from his lap and placing it on the bed. He straightened the bed linen to his own satisfaction and allowed himself one final look at the angelic face.

“Goodnight, young sir,” he murmured at last. “Sleep well.”

He turned off the lamp and quietly shimmered out.

**Author's Note:**

> "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" is a fairy tale dating back to the 19th century. It was referenced in P.G. Wodehouse's _Thank You, Jeeves_ , if I am thinking of the correct novel, which is why it is used here.


End file.
